The Loudest Conspiracy
by ratluck1
Summary: AU: When a series of grizzly murders begin to occur near the peaceful woodlands of Royal Woods, Michigan, Lincoln and his teammates are tasked by the city to investigate. Rated M for language and gore.
1. Prologue

_Royal Woods Gazette, March 12th, 2018_

 **Tetherby Civic Center receives huge grant courtesy of Eli Lily**

 _Downtown Royal Woods-_ The Tetherby Civic Center for artistic and creative kids will be receiving a 2.5 million dollar grant for their art and science departments, as well as their maintenance department. This is yet another act of generosity by the world's leading pharmaceutical company, Eli Lily. In addition to the grant for the civic center, Eli Lily has also given substantial amounts of money to the Royal Woods Memorial Hospital and the Oakland Police Department.

"We are very excited to be receiving this grant," Mrs. Johnson, one of the teachers at the center, "We really appreciate Eli Lily's support in advancing the young minds of the future."

 _Oakland Times, March 14, 2018_

 **Bizarre Murders Committed in Red Run Forest**

 _Red Run Forest-_ The mutilated body of forty-two year old Mason Ryan was discovered yesterday in an abandoned lot near his home. Reports say that the body showed evidence of cannibalism, with jaw marks apparently made by human jaws.

Shortly after the discovery of the body by two joggers, Chief Roberto Alejandro Martinez-Millan Luis Santiago issued a brief statement informing the populous that "all possible actions to ensure civilian safety will be taken." The OPA will instigate an investigation into the matter.

 _Detroit Times, March 15, 2018_

 **Three More Murders in the Royal Woods Area**

 _Red Run Forest-_ The bodies of Mark Eliot, Olivia Pingry, and Ray Foster were found at the edge of the Red Run Forest. Friends of the deceased claimed that they attempted to find the killers and bring them to justice. Police Chief Santiago has officially set a curfew for ten o'clock PM, and is employing more police hours to ensure the safety of the citizens.

 _Detroit Times, March 18, 2018_

" **S.T.A.R.S" Special Tactics and Rescue Squad called into Royal Woods to solve bizarre murders.**

 _S.T.A.R.S office-_ Following the recent deaths occurring around the Tri-State area, Police Chief Santiago has officially created the Royal Woods Special Tactics and Rescue Squad (or S.T.A.R.S for short) to help solve the murders occurring around the Royal Woods area.

Founded in New York in 1967, the privately funded S.T.A.R.S. organization was originally created as a measure against cult-affiliated terrorism by a group of retired military officials and ex-field operatives from both the CIA and FBI. Under the guidance of former NSDA (National Security and Defense Agency) director Marco Palmieri, the group quickly expanded its services to include everything from hostage negotiation to code breaking and riot control. Working with local police agencies, each branch office in the S.T.A.R.S. is designed to work as a complete unit in itself. The S.T.A.R.S. set up in Royal Woods thanks to donations from local businesses, and is currently led by Captain Chandler Hawkins, who was promoted to the position only six months ago…..

* * *

 **A/N:** So, this is a bizarre fic for me to rewrite. I wrote this back in high school almost six years ago for an entirely different fandom. However, upon reflection, I have decided to re-write it for the Loud House fandom. This AU will change quite a few things, and be a little darker than most fics I've written. I hope you all enjoy, and will appreciate any feedback you readers may have.

Thanks!

Dylan the Duuuuuude.


	2. Ronnie's Motivation

Ronnie Anne was already late for the briefing when she somehow managed to drop the keys into her cup of coffee on the way out the door. There was a muted _ting_ as they hit the bottom, and as she paused in mid-stride, staring in disbelief at the steaming ceramic mug, the thick stack of files she carried under her other arm slid smoothly to the floor. Paper clips and sticky notes scattered across the tan carpeting.

"Aw, _Cagar_."

She checked her watch as she turned back toward the kitchen, cup in hand. Chandler had called for the meeting at 19:00 sharp, which meant she had nine minutes to make the ten minute drive, find some parking, and get her late butt in a chair. The first actual meeting since the S.T.A.R.S. had been established-hell, her first meeting as a S.T.A.R.S. member, and she was going to be late.

 _Figures. First time in years that I actually give a rat's ass about being punctual, and I fall apart at the door._

Muttering darkly, she hurried to the sink, feeling tense and angry with herself for not getting ready earlier. It was the case, the goddamn case. She'd found her copies of the mission files, and spent all day examining everything, from the autopsies to the witness reports, which were few and far between, searching for something, heck anything, that the cops missed-and felt more and more frustrated as the day slipped passed and she'd fail to come up with anything new.

She dumped the mug and scooped up her warm, wet keys, wiping them against her jeans as she hurried back to the front door. She crouched down to gather the files- and stopped, staring at the glossy color photo that had ended up on top.

 _Oh, girls…_

She picked it up slowly, knowing that she didn't have time and yet unable to look away from the tiny, blood splattered faces. She felt the knots of tension that had been building up all day intensify, and for a moment it was all she could do to breath as she stared at the crime scene photo. Natalie and Valarie Palmarero, ages seven and six. She'd flipped past it earlier, telling herself there was nothing to see…

… _but it isn't true, is it? You can keep pretending or you can admit it-everything is different now, it's been different since the day they died._

When she'd first moved back to Royal Woods, she'd been under a whole lot of stress. Besides her beloved childhood friend, his sisters, and the occasional familiar face, all of which she has not seen in years, she was truly alone. At one point, she'd been giving serious though to just blowing out of town, just giving the whole "S.T.A.R.S." thing up…

Until two little girls who lived across the street had shown up on her doorstep and asked her with wide, tear stained eyes if she was really a police woman. Their parents were at work, and they couldn't find their dog.

… _Nat in her green school dress, little Valerie in her overalls-both of them sniffling and shy…_

The pup had been wandering through a garden only a few blocks away, no sweat- and she'd made two new friends as easy as that.

The sisters had promptly adopted Ronnie, showing up after school to bring her scraggy bundles of flowers, play in her yard on the weekends, and sing her many a song that they had learned from movies and cartoons. For the first time in six years, she felt like she truly belonged in the community she lived and worked in.

Six weeks ago, Nat and Valerie had wandered away from a family picnic they were having in the Royal Woods Park - and became the first two victims of the psychopaths that have since been terrifying the nice city.

The photo had trembled slightly in her hand, sparing her nothing. Natalie was lying on her back, staring blindly at the sky, a gaping, ragged hole in her belly. Valerie was sprawled next to her, arms outstretched, chunks of flesh ripped savagely from the slender limbs. Both children had been eviscerated, dying of massive trauma, before they bled out. If they had screamed, no one had heard…

 _Enough! They're gone, but you can finally do something about it!_

Ronnie Anne fumbled her papers into her folder, rushed into her shitty little silver hatchback, and drove to the station, struggling to hide the tears in her eyes…

" _I swear girls, I'll bring those bloody bastards to justice if it's the last thing I do."_


	3. Mission Prep Part 1

"Yo, Lincoln!"

Lincoln turned away from the soda machine and saw Francisco Davis striding down the empty hall toward him, a wide grin on his tanned, boyish face. Francisco was actually a few years older the Lincoln (closer to his sister Lynn's age), but looked like a rebellious teenager - long hair, a studded jean jacket, a tattoo of a skull smoking a cigarette on his left shoulder. He was also an excellent mechanic, and one of the best shots Lincoln had ever seen in action.

"Hey, Francisco. What's up?" Lincoln scooped up a can of club soda from the machines dispenser and glanced at his watch. He still had a couple of minute before the meeting. He smiled tiredly as Francisco stopped on front of him, eyes sparkling. He was carrying an armful of equipment – a vest, utility belt, and shoulder pack.

"Chandler gave Rusty the go-ahead to start the search. Bravo team's going in." Even when exited, Francisco's southside Chicago street twang slowed his words to a stereotypical mid-western drawl. He dropped his stuff on one of the visitor's chairs, still grinning widely.

Lincoln frowned. "When?"

"Now. Soon as I warm up the 'copter." Francisco pulled the Kevlar vest on over his T-shirt while he spoke. "While you Alphas sit taking notes, we're gonna go kick some cannibal ass!"

 _Nothing if not confident, us S.T.A.R.S._ "Yeah, well….just watch **your** ass, ok? I still think there's more going on here than a couple of slobbering nut jobs hanging around in the woods."

"You know it." Francisco pushed his hair back and grabbed the utility belt, obviously already focused on the mission. Lincoln thought about saying more, but decided against it. For all of his bravado, Django was a professional; he didn't need to be told to be careful.

 _You sure about that, Lincoln? You think Lisa was careful enough?_

Sighing inwardly, Lincoln slapped Francisco's shoulder lightly and headed for the op room though the doorway of the small upstairs waiting room and down the hall.

He was surprised that Chandler was sending the two teams in secretly. Although it was standard for the least experienced S.T.A.R.S. to do the initial recon, this wasn't exactly a standard operation. The number of deaths alone was enough to call for a more aggressive offense. The fact that there were signs of organization to the murders should have brought the mission to A1 status, and Chandler was still treating it like some sort of a training run.

 _Nobody else sees it; they didn't know Lisa…_

Lincoln thought again about the late-night call he'd gotten from his second-youngest sister. He hadn't heard from Lisa in awhile, but he knew she had taken up a job as a researcher for Eli Lily, the pharmaceutical company that was the single biggest contributor to the economic prosperity of the Royal Woods area. Lisa had never been the type to jump at shadows, and the terrified desperation in her voice had jolted Lincoln awake one night, filling him with deep concern and dread. Lisa blabbed that herself, and all of Royal Woods, were in grave danger, and begged her brother to meet her at an old diner on the edge of town - and never showed up. No one had heard from her since.

Lincoln had run it over and over again in the sleepless nights since Lisa's disappearance, trying to convince himself that the attacks and his sister's disappearance were not connected - and yet he was unable to shake his growing certainty that there was more going on to meet the eye, and that Lisa knew what. Lincoln's instincts was that his second youngest sister was dead, and that she had been killed by somebody who wanted to keep her quiet.

 _And I seem to be the only one. Bobby's superiors don't give a shit, and the team thinks I'm just torn up over the loss of a family member, IF she's lost in the first place…_

He pushed the thoughts aside as he turned the corner, his boot sending muted echoes through the arched second floor corridor. He had to focus, to keep his mind on what he **could** do to find out why Lisa had disappeared - but he was exhausted, running on a minimum of sleep and an almost constant anxiety that has plagued him since Lisa's call. Maybe he **was** losing his perceptive, his objectivity dulled by recent events…

The door to the S.T.A.R.S. office stood open, the muted sounds of gruff male voices and indignant female voices spilling out into the hall. Lincoln hesitated for a moment when he heard Co-Chief Wilbur T. Huggins' voice among them. "Just Call Me Wilbur" Huggins was a self-centered and self-serving politician masquerading as a cop. It was no secret that Huggins had his money grubbing little fingers in more than a few local pies. He had even been implicated in the Maple-Drive land scam of '02, and although nothing was ever proven in court, anyone who knew him personally didn't harbor any doubt.

 _Of course, it doesn't help much that he hates your guts, does it Lincoln?_

Yeah, well. Lincoln didn't like to kiss ass, and Huggins didn't know how to have any other kind of relationship. At least Huggins wasn't a total incompetent, he'd had some military training. Lincoln pasted on a straight face and stepped into the small, cluttered office that served as the S.T.A.R.S. base of operations.

Lori and Carol Pingry were over by the rookie desk, looking though some files and talking quietly. Clyde McBride, the Alpha pilot and hacker, was drinking coffee and staring at the main computer screen. Across the room Captain Chandler was leaning back in his chair, smiling blankly at something the co-chief was saying. Huggins was leaned against Chandler's desk, one hand stroking his carefully groomed mustache as he spoke.

"So I said, "You're going to print what I tell you to print. Lucy Loud, and you're going to like it!" and she says…"

"Lincoln!" Chandler interrupted the chief, leaning forward, "Good, you're here. Looks like we can stop wasting time."

Wilbur scowled in his direction, but Lincoln kept his poker face. Chandler didn't care much for Huggins either, and he didn't try to be any more polite in his dealings with the man. From the glint in his eyes, it was obvious he didn't care who knew it either.

Lincoln walked into the office and stood by the desk he shared with his sister Lana, one of the Bravo team's members. Since the teams usually worked different shifts, they did not need much room. He set the unopened can of soda on his desktop and looked at Chandler.

"You're sending Bravo in?"

The captain gazed back at Lincoln, impassively, arms folded across his chest. "Standard Procedure, Lincoln."

Lincoln sat down, frowning. "Yeah, but with what we talked about last week, I thought-"

Huggins interrupted like a Roman ruler decreeing an execution. "I gave the order, Loud. I know you think that there's some kind of cloak-and-dagger going on here, but I don't see any reason to deviate from policy."

 _Sanctimonious Prick…_

Lincoln forced a smile, knowing it would irritate Huggins. "Of course, sir. No need to explain yourself on my behalf."

Huggins glared at him for a moment, then apparently deciding to let it drop. He turned back to Chandler. "I'll expect a full report when Bravo returns. Now, if you'll excuse me, Captain…"

Chandler nodded. "Chief."

Huggins stalked past Lincoln and out of the room. He'd been gone less than a minute before Lori started in.

"Think the chief took a shit today? Maybe we all oughtta chip in for Christmas, get him some laxatives."

Carol and Clyde laughed like a bunch on hyenas, but Lincoln couldn't bring himself to join in. Huggins was a joke, but his gross mishandling of this investigation wasn't all that funny.

* * *

Lori stood by Lincoln's desk for a moment, trying to think of something else to say, but her brother didn't look like he was in the mood for conversation. Lori shrugged inwardly and headed back to where Carol was going through files. Lincoln was a good guy, but he took things too hard sometimes; he'd get over it when it was their turn in to step in.

Man, it was hot! Seemingly endless trickles of sweat rolled down her spine, gluing her T-shirt to her slender and toned back. The air conditioning was on the fritz as usual, and even with the door open, the tiny S.T.A.R.S. office was uncomfortably warm.

"Any luck?"

Carol Pingry looked up at him from the pile of papers, a rueful smirk on his lean face. "You kidding?" It's like someone hid the damn thing on purpose."

Lori sighed and scooped up a handful of files. "Maybe Ronnie-Anne found it. She was still here when I left last night, going through witness reports for about the hundredth time…"

"What are you two looking for, anyway?" Clyde asked.

Lori and Carol both looked over at him, still sitting at the computer console, headset on. He'd been monitoring Bravo's progress throughout the fly-by of the forest district, but for now he looked as bored as hell.

Carol answered him. "Ah, Lori here claims there are floor plans in here somewhere on the old Spencer estate, some architectural digest that came out when the house was built-" She paused, then grinned at Clyde, " Except that I'm thinking that 'Ol' Lori Loud has gone senile on us. They say memory is the first to go."

Lori scowled good-naturedly. "Ol' Lori could easily and literally twist your ass into a human pretzel, little lady."

Carol looked at her mock-seriously. "Yeah, but would you **remember** it afterwards?"

Lori chuckled, shaking her head. She was only twenty eight years old, but she'd been with the S.T.A.R.S. for fifteen years, making her the senior member. She endured many old age jokes, mostly from her slightly younger high school rival Carol.

Clyde cocked an eyebrow. "The Spencer place? Why would it be in a magazine?"

"You kids, gotta learn your history," Lori grunted, breaking into a slightly exaggerated lectury tone. "It was designed by George Trevor. Rumor has it that Trevor went crazy during construction and when it was finished, he got lost and wandered the halls until he died of starvation."

Clyde scoffed at first, but suddenly looked uneasy after a moment of deliberation. "That is, how you say, shit of the bull variety. I never heard anything like that."

Carol winked at her former rival. "No, it's true. Now his tortured soul roams the estate at night, calling out, 'Clyde McBride….bring me Clyde McBride….'"

Clyde flushed slightly. "Yeah, ha ha. You're a real comedian, Pingry."

Lori shook her head, smiling rather widely, but wondered again how Clyde ever made it to the S.T.A.R.S. He was undoubtedly the best hacker working for the S.T.A.R.S. and was a very good pilot but he wasn't so hot under pressure. Carol had taken to calling him 'Chicken-Heart McBride' when he wasn't around, and while the S.T.A.R.S. generally stuck up for one another, especially his best friend Lincoln, nobody disagreed with Carol's assessment.

"So is that why Spencer shut it down?" Clyde addressed this inquiry to Lori, his cheeks still red. Over the years he had kicked his bad habits of fainting at her sight, but he still harbored that same schoolboy crush he did in his youth.

Lori shrugged. "I doubt it. It was supposed to be some kind of guest house for Eli Lily's top execs. Trevor did disappear right about the time of completion- but Spencer was whacko anyway. He decided to move the company headquarters to Europe, and just boarded up the mansion. Probably a couple of million bucks, straight into the crapper."

Carol sneered. "Right, like Eli Lily would suffer."

True enough. Spencer may have been insane, but he had enough business savvy to strike it rich.

"Anyway," Carol went on, "Huggins sent someone from Eli Lily out to check the place out, make sure it was secure, no break ins."

"So why look for blueprints?" Carol asked.

It was Lincoln who answered, startling his older sister. He'd walked back to join them, his youthful face fixed with a sudden intensity that borders on obsessive. "Because it's the only place in the woods not checked by the police, and it's practically in the middle of the crime scenes. And you can't always trust what people say."

Clyde frowned, turning towards his long-time best friend. "But if Eli Lily sent somebody out…"

Whatever Lincoln was about to say in response was cut short by Chandler's loud, soothing, calming voice, rising from the front of the room.

"Alright, people. Since it appears Ms. Santiago isn't planning on joining us anytime soon, why don't we get started?"

Lori gazed fondly at the picture of Bobby and their daughters that sat on her desk. Lincoln's obsession with the murders was understandable, particularly since their sister disappeared. She personally thought her sister was fine, as she had a tendency for going off the grid, even back when they were younger. Regardless, nobody in town wanted to see another life lost. Lori had a family, and was as determined as anyone else on the team to catch the killers. But Lincoln's relentless suspicion had gone a little overboard. What had he meant by that, "You can't always trust what people say?" Either that Eli Lily was lying or Chief Huggins was….

Lori didn't know what it meant. She sighed, and waited for the meeting to finally begin.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, this fic is a lot of fun for me to decipher from my old high school notebook. In the last chapter, I used the names of two of my good friends from this fandom as the two innocent girl victims of the cannibalistic murders. Natalie, better known as WyomingParmesan and Valerie, better known as xSunnyEclipse, are both incredible writers and artists here in the Loud House fandom, and I very much recommend checking them out for fun Ronniecoln and Lobby stuff. I'd also like to thank Weavillain and Sesquipidelian Numeral for assisting me during this process. Check out their work as well, most notably _"Alphabet Soup"_ from Weavillain and _"The Devices and Machinations of Lisa Loud"_ for Ses.

Any reviews, favorites, follows, or PMs are very much appreciated!

Dylan the Dude/ratluck1


	4. Mission Prep Part 2

Ronnie-Anne was deeply relieved to hear the sound of Chandler's voice as she jogged toward the open door to the S.T.A.R.S. office. She'd seen one of the helicopters taking off as she arrived and had been positive they'd left without her. The S.T.A.R.S. were a fairly casual outfit in some respects. But there wasn't any room for people who couldn't keep up-and she very much wanted to be a part of this case from the get-go.

"The OPD has already established a perimeter search, spanning sectors one, four, seven, and nine. It's the central zones we're concerned with, and Bravo will set down here..."

At least she wasn't too late; Chandler always ran meetings the same way- update speech, theory, and Q and A. Ronnie-Anne took a deep breath and stepped into the office. Chandler was pointing to a posted map at the front of the room, dotted with colored tags where the bodies were found.

He hardly faltered in his speech as she walked quickly to her desk, feeling suddenly like she was back in high school and had shown up late for class.

Lincoln Loud threw her a big, friendly smile as she sat down, and she smiled back before focusing her attention back on Chandler. She didn't really remember anyone from Royal Woods except for her old love interest Lincoln Loud. Hell, Lincoln was probably the main reason she joined the S.T.A.R.S. in the first place. Despite the constant teasing and name calling, she loved him with all her heart and soul, and she joined the S.T.A.R.S. for the soul purpose of being closer to him. That, and to make a difference in cases like this.

"... after a fly-by of the other central areas. Once they report in, we'll have a better idea of where to focus our energies."

"But what about the Spencer estate?" Lincoln asked. "It's practically in the middle of the crime scenes. If we start there, we can conduct a more complete search-"

"-and if Bravo's information points to that area, rest assured we'll search there. For now, I don't see any reason to consider it a priority."

Lincoln looked incredulous. "But we only have Eli Lily's word that the estate is secure..."

Chandler leaned against his desk, his facial features expressionless. "Lincoln, we all want to get to the bottom of this, but we need to work as a team, and the best approach here is to do a thorough search of the woodland area before we start jumping to conclusions. Bravo will take a look-see and we'll do this by the book."

The white haired S.T.A.R.S. member frowned, but said nothing more. Ronnie-Anne could barely resist the urge to give her favorite lame-o a hug.

"Ronnie-Anne. I see that you managed to find the time to come in, Illuminate us with your brilliant insight. What have you got for us?"

Ronnie met Chandler's sharp gaze evenly, trying to seem as composed as he was. "Nothing new, I'm afraid. The only obvious pattern is location..."

She looked down at the notes she had on the stack of files in front of her, scanning them for reference. "Uh, the tissue samples from both Natalie Sweetwater and Ray Foster's fingernails were an exact match, we got that report yesterday...and Tonya Lipton had definitely been hiking in the foothills, that'd be sector seven-B..."

She looked back up at Chandler and made her pitch. "My theory at this point is there's a possible ritualistic cult hiding in the forest, four to eleven members strong, with guard dogs trained to attack intruders in their territory."

"Extrapolate." Chandler folded his arms, waiting.

 _At least no one had laughed._

Ronnie plunged forward, warming to the material. "The cannibalism and dismemberment suggest ritualistic behavior, as does the presence of decomposed flesh found on some of the victims-like the killers are carrying parts of the previous unknown victims. We've got saliva and tissue samples from our human assailants, though eye-whiteness reports suggest up to ten or eleven people. And those killed by animals were all found in the same vicinity, suggesting that they wandered into some kind of off-limits area. The saliva traces appear to be canine, though there's still some disagreement." She finished, beginning to trail off.

The captain's face betrayed nothing, but nodded slowly regardless. "Not bad, not bad at all. Disprove?"

Ronnie sighed. She hated having to shoot down her own theory, but that was part of the job, the part that encouraged clear, rational thinking. The S.T.A.R.S. trained their people not to fixate on any single path to the truth.

She glanced at her notes again. "It's highly unlikely that a cult that big would move around much, and the murders started too recently to be local; the OPD would've seen signs before now, some escalation to this kind of behavior. Also, the level of post-mortem violence indicates disorganized offenders, and they usually work solo."

Carol, the Alpha squad's vehicle specialist, piped up from the back of the room. "The animal attack parts works, though, protecting their territory and all."

Chandler scooped up a pen and walked over to the white board next to his desk, talking as he moved. "I agree."

He wrote _territoriality_ on the board then turned back to face her. "Anything else?"

Ronnie-Anne shook her head.

Chandler capped his black pen and sat on the edge of his desk, gazing thoughtfully at the blank expanse of board. "It's a start," he said, "I know you've all read the police and coroner reports, and listened to all the witness accounts-"

"McBride here, over." From the back of the room, Clyde spoke quietly into his headset, interrupting their captain. Chandler lowered his voice and continued.

"Now at this point, we don't know what we're dealing with and I know that all of us have some... _concerns_ with how the OPD has been dealing with the situation. But now that we're on the case, I-"

"What!"

At the sound of Clyde's raised voice, Ronnie-Anne pivoted toward the back of the room along with everyone else. He was standing up, agitated, one hand pressed to the ear piece of his set.

"Bravo team, report. Repeat, Bravo team report!"

Chandler stood up. "McBride, put it on com!"

Clyde hit the switch on the console and the bright, crackling sound of static filled the room. Ronnie-Anne strained to hear a human voice amidst the fuzz, but for several tense seconds, there was nothing.

" _... you copy? Malfunction. We're going to have to..."_

The rest was lost in a burst of static. It sounded like Rusty Spokes, the Bravo team leader. Ronnie bit her bottom lip and exchanged a worried glance with Lincoln. Rusty had seemed...frantic. They all listened for another moment but there was nothing more than the sound of open air.

"Position?" Chandler snapped.

Clyde's once red face was pale. "They're in the, uh, sector twenty-two, tail end of c...except I've lost the signal. The transmitter is off line."

Ronnie-Anne felt stunned, she saw the feeling reflected off of her comrade's faces. The helicopter's transmitter was designed to keep working no matter what; the only way it would shut down was if something bug happened- the entire system blanking out or being seriously damaged.

 _Something like a crash._

* * *

Lincoln felt his stomach knot as he recognized the coordinates.

 _The Spencer Estate..._

Rusty had said something about a malfunction, it had to be a coincidence - but it didn't feel like one. The Bravos were in trouble, and practically on top of the old Eli Lily mansion.

All of this went through Lincoln's head in a spit-second, and then he was standing, ready to move. Whatever happened, the S.T.A.R.S. took care of their own.

Chandler was already in action. He addressed the team even as he reached for his keys, heading for the gun safe.

"Pingry, take over the board and keep trying to raise them. McBride, warm up the 'copter and get clearance, I want us ready to fly in five."

The captain unlocked the safe as Clyde handed the headset to Carol and hurried out of the room. The reinforced metal door swung open, revealing an arsenal of rifles and handguns shelved above boxes of ammo. Chandler turned to the rest of them, his expression as bland as ever, but his voice brisk with authority.

"Lincoln, Lori-I want you to get the weapons into the 'copter, loaded and secured. Santiago, get the vests and packs and meet us on the roof." He clipped a key off his ring and tossed it to her.

"I'm going to put a call into Huggins, make sure he gets us some backup and EMT s at the barricade," Chandler said, then blew out sharply. "Five minutes or less, folks. Let's move."

Ronnie-Anne left for the locker room and grabbed one of the empty duffel bags from the bottom of the gun safe, nodding at Lincoln as he scooped up a second bag and started loading boxes of shells, cartridges, and clips as Lori carefully handled the weapons, checking each one. Behind them, Carol again tried hailing the Bravo team to no avail.

Lincoln wondered again about the proximity of the Bravo team's last reported position to the Spencer estate. Was there a connection? And if so, how?

 _Lisa worked for Eli Lilly, they own the estate._

"Chief? Hawkins. We just lost contact with Bravo; I'm taking us in."

Lincoln felt a sudden rush of adrenaline and worked faster, aware that every second counted-could mean the difference between life and death for his friends and teammates. A serious crash was unlikely, as the Bravos would have been flying low and Francisco was a decent pilot...but what about after they'd gone down?

Chandler quickly relayed the information to Huggins over the phone and then hung up, walking back to join them.

"I'm going up to make sure our 'copters outfitted. Pingry, give it another minute and then turn it over to the boys at the front desk. You can help these two carry the equipment up. I'll see you up top."

Chandler nodded to them and hurried out, his footsteps clattering loudly down the hall.

"He's good." Lori said quietly, and her brother had to agree had to agree. It was reassuring to see that their new captain didn't rattle easily. Lincoln still wasn't sure how he felt about the man personally, but his respect for Mr. Hawkins abilities was growing by the minute.

" _Come in, Bravo, do you copy? Repeat..."_

Carol Pingry patiently went on, her voice tight with strain, her pleas lost to the haze of white static that pulsed out into the room...

* * *

Chandler strode down the deserted hall and through the shabbier of the two story waiting room, nodding briskly at a pair of uniforms stood talking by the soda machine.

The door to the outside landing was chocked open, a faint, humid breeze cutting through the stickiness of the air inside. It was still daylight, but not for much longer. He hoped that it wouldn't complicate matters, although he figured it probably would.

Chandler took a left and started down the winding corridor that led to the helipad, absently running through a mental checklist.

… _hailing open, procedure, weapons, gear, report..._

He already knew that everything was in order, but went through it again anyway. Control was what being a competent leader all was about.

 _But to close this case-_

He shut the thought down before it could get any further. He knew what had to be done, and there was still plenty of time. All that mattered now was getting the Bravos back, safe and sound.

Chandler opened the door at the end of the hall and stepped out into the bright evening. The rising hum of the 'copters engine and the smell of machine oil filling his senses. The small rooftop helipad was cooler then inside, partly draped by the shadow of an aging water tower, and empty except for the gunmetal gray Alpha helicopter. For the first time, he wondered what had gone wrong for Bravo; he'd had Carol check out both birds yesterday and they'd been fine, all systems go.

He dismissed that train of thought as he walked toward the 'copter, his shadow falling long across the concrete. It didn't matter, not anymore. What mattered was what came next.

 _Expect the unexpected_

That was the S.T.A.R.S. motto - although that pretty much meant to prepare for anything.

 _Expect nothing_

That was Chandler Hawkin's motto. A little less catchy, perhaps, but infinity more useful. It virtually guaranteed that nothing would ever surprise him.

He stepped up to the open pilot door and got a shaky thumbs-up from Clyde; the man looked positively horrified, and Hawkins briefly considered leaving him behind. Lincoln was licensed to fly, and Clyde had a reputation for choking under the gun; the last thing he needed was for one of his people to freeze up if there was trouble. Then he thought about the Bravos and decided against it. This was a rescue mission. The worst McBride could do would be to throw up on himself if the 'copter had crashed badly, and Chandler could live with that.

He grinned suddenly, wondering what Wilbur T. Huggins was doing right now.

 _Shitting his pants, no doubt._ Chandler chuckled as he stepped back onto the sunbaked asphalt, getting a sudden clear mental image of Huggins, his cheeks red with anger and crap dribbling down his leg. The co-chief was a power hungry psychopath, and that made him an idiot.

Unfortunately for all of them, he was an idiot with a little bit of power. Chandler had found some evidence that didn't show the chief in a positive light. He had no intention of using that info, but if the idiot attempted to screw things up one more time, he had no qualms about letting that info get out...

… _or at least tell him I have access to it; that would certainly keep him out of the way._

Lori Loud stepped onto the concrete, carrying the ammo cache, her well-trained biceps flexing as she shifted her hold on the heavy canvas bag and started for the 'copter. Lincoln and Carol followed, he with the sidearms and her lugging a satchel of RPGs, the compact grenade launcher slung over her shoulder.

Chandler marveled at Lori's brute strength as the Alpha climbed in and casually set down the bag like it didn't weigh one-hundred pounds. Lori was a genius tactician and brilliant mind, sure. But in the S.T.A.R.S. muscle was a definite asset. Everyone else in his squad was in good shape, but compared to Lori and her brother, they were pencil necks.

As the three of them stored the equipment, Chandler turned his attention back to the door, watching for Ronnie-Anne. He checked his watch and frowned. It had been just under five minutes since their last contact with Bravo, they'd made excellent time... so where the hell was Santiago? He hadn't interacted with her much, but her file was a rave review. She'd gotten high recommendations from everyone she's worked with, praised by her last captain as highly intelligent and "unusually" calm in a crisis.

 _Prodigy or not, she could stand to buy a decent watch._ He silently urged Ronnie-Anne to get her ass into gear and motioned for Cylde to start the 'copter.

It was time to find out just how bad things were out there.


	5. To The Rescue

Ronnie Anne turned toward the door of the dim and silent S.T.A.R. room, her arms full with two bulging duffel bags and a bottle of water held tightly in her grasp. She glanced at her watch, pleased to note that it had only taken her three minutes to load up.

 _A full minute faster than our drills. Score one for Santiago._

She crouched a bit and fumbled at the latch to her locker, balancing the awkward bags on one knee. She'd just grasped it when someone coughed loudly behind her.

Startled, Ronnie Anne dropped the bags and spun around, looking for the cougher as her mind reflexively assessed the situation.

"Miss Santiago, isn't it?" A shadow separated itself from the back of the room and stepped forward, a tall man with a low, musical voice. Early forties, a thin frame, dark hair and deep set eyes. His body was concealed by a large trench coat, and an expensive one at that.

Ronnie Anne readied herself to move quickly if the need arose. She didn't recognize the man, so used to her crew's relative privacy in their own little corner of the Royal Woods police station.

"That's right," she said warily.

The man stepped toward her, a smile flickering across his face. "I have something for you," he said softly.

She narrowed her eyes and shifted automatically into a defensive position, balancing her weight on the balls of her feet. "Hold it, _puta_ \- I don't know who the hell you think you are or what you think I want, but you're in a police station…."

She trailed off as he shook his head, grinning broadly, his dark eyes twinkling with mirth. "You mistake my intentions, Miss Santiago. Excuse my manners, please." He shifted his weight to a more casual stance, leaning gingerly against Ronnie's desk.

"My name is Prince, and I'm…a friend of the S.T.A.R.S."

Ronnie-Anne studied his posture and position and eased her own stance slightly, watching his eyes for even a flicker of movement. She didn't feel threatened by him, exactly…

… _. But how did he know your name?_

"What do you want?"

Prince grinned wider. "Ah, straight to the point. But of course, you're on a rather tight schedule….."

He slowly reached into a pocket of his coat and pulled out a small black flip-phone, ancient by their department's standards. "Though it's not what I want that's important. It's what I think you should have."

She glanced quickly at the block he held in his palm, frowning. "That?"

"Yes. I've assembled a few documents that you should find interesting; compelling, in fact." As he spoke, he held out the device.

She reached for it carefully, realizing as she did that it wasn't simple cell phone: a mini-disk reader, a very complicated and costly microcomputer that somehow could fit in between her fingers. This Prince guy was well-financed, whoever he was.

Ronnie Anne tucked the reader into her hip pack, suddenly more than a little curious. "Who do you work for?"

Prince laughed, a soft, deep chuckle. "So many questions, so little time. Read the files I've provided. And if I were you, I wouldn't mention this conversation to anyone; it could have rather serious consequences."

He walked toward the door in the back of the room, turning back to her as he reached for the knob. Prince's lined, weathered features suddenly lost all trace of humor, his gaze serious and intense.

"One more thing, Miss Santiago, and this is critical. Make no mistake: not everyone can be trusted, and not everyone is who they appear to be - even the people you think you know. If you want to stay alive, you'll do well to remember it."

The mysterious man opened the door with a quick, smooth motion and just like that, he was gone.

Ronnie Anne stared after him, her mind going a million different directions at once. She felt like she was in some melodramatic old spy movie and had just met the mysterious stranger. It was laughable, and yet-

 _\- and yet he just handed you several thousands of dollars' worth of equipment with a straight face and told you to watch your back; you think he's kidding?_

She didn't know what to think, and she didn't have time to think it; The Alpha team was probably assembled, waiting, and wondering where the hell she was.

Regardless, Ronnie Anne shouldered the heavy bags and hurried out the door.

* * *

They'd gotten the weapons loaded and secure and Chandler was getting impatient. Although his eyes were hidden by dark aviator sunglasses, Lincoln could still see it in the captain's stance and in the way he kept his head cocked toward the building. The helicopter was prepped and ready, the blades whipping warm, humid air though the tight compartment with the door open, the sound of the engine drowned out any attempt at conversation. There was nothing they could do but wait.

 _Come on, Ronnie Anne, don't slow us down here._

Just as soon as he thought it, his spicy raven-haired friend emerged from the building and jogged toward them with the Alpha gear, an apologetic look on her face. Chandler jumped down to help her, taking one of the stuffed bags as she climbed aboard.

Chandler followed, closing the double hatches behind them. Instantly, the roar of the turbine engine was muted to a dull thrum.

"Problems, Santiago?" Her boss didn't sound angry, but there was an edge to his voice that suggested he wasn't all that happy, either.

Ronnie shook her head. "One of the lockers was stuck. I had a hell of a time getting the key to work."

The captain stared at her for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to give her a hard time, then shrugged. "I'll call maintenance when we get back. Go ahead and distribute the gear."

He picked up a headset and put it on, moving up to sit next to Clyde as Ronnie Anne started passing out the vests. The helicopter lifted slowly, the OPD building falling away as their pilot positioned them to head northwest.

Lincoln crouched down next to Ronnie Anne after donning his vest, helping her sort through the gloves and belts as the sped over the city toward the Red Run Mountains. The busy urban streets below quickly gave way to the suburbs, wide streets and quiet houses set amidst squares if browning grass and picket fences.

An evening haze had settled over the sprawling community, fuzzing the edges of the picturesque view and giving it an unreal, dream-like quality. Minutes passed in silence as the Alphas prepared themselves and geared up, each team member preoccupied by his or her own thoughts.

With any luck, the Bravo team's helicopter had suffered only a minor mechanical failure. Francisco would've set it down in one of the scraggly open fields that dotted the forest and was probably up to his elbows in grease by now, cursing at the engine as they waited for Alpha to show. Without the bird in working order, Rusty wouldn't start the proposed recon. The alternative...

Lincoln grimaced, not wanting to consider any alternatives. He'd once seen the aftermath of a serious 'copter crash back in advanced training. Pilot error had led to the fall of a Huey carrying eleven men and women to a training mission. By the time the rescuers had arrived, there'd been nothing but charred, smoking bones amidst the fiery debris, the sweet, sticky smell of gasoline-roasted flesh heavy in the blackened air. Even the ground had been burning, and that was the image that had haunted his dreams for months afterwards; the earth on fire, the chemical flames devouring the very soil beneath his feet...

There was a slight dip in their altitude as Clyde adjusted the rotor pitch, jolting him out of the unpleasant memory.

"ETA...Three minutes," McBride called back, as Lincoln looked around the cabin, noting the silent, grim expressions of his teammate's faces. Carol had tied a bandana over her head and was intently re-lacing her boots. Lori was gently rubbing a cloth over her beloved Colt Python, staring out the hatch window. She'd gotten heavily into gun collecting after a break in at her apartment a couple years back, and this particular revolver had become her best friend, next to her husband, kids, and brother. She turned her head to look at her sister-in-law and was surprised to find her staring back at her thoughtfully. She was sitting on the same bench as her and she smiled briefly, almost nervously as she caught her gaze. Abruptly, she unhooked her belt and moved to sit next to her beloved.

"Hey, Lame-O... what you've been saying, about external factors in these cases..."

Her voice was pitched so low that he had to lean in to hear her over the throbbing of the engine, She glanced quickly around to make sure no one was listening, then looked into his eyes deeply, her own carefully guarded.

"I think you might be on the right track," she said softly, "and I'm starting to think that it might not be such a good idea to talk about it."

Lincoln's throat suddenly felt dry. "Did something happen?"

Ronnie Anne shook her head, her finely chiseled, cute, Hispanic features giving away nothing. "No, I've just been think that maybe you should watch what you say. Maybe not everyone listening is on the right side of this..."

Lincoln frowned, not sure what she was trying to tell him. "The only people I've talked to are on the job-"

Her gaze didn't falter and he realized suddenly what she was implying.

 _Jesus, and I thought I was paranoid._

"Ronnie, I know these people, and even if I didn't, the S.T.A.R.S. have psyche profiles on member, history check, personal references- no way it could happen."

She sighed." Look, forget I said anything. I just... just watch yourself, please?"

"Alright kids, look lively. We're coming up on sector twenty-two, they could be anywhere."

At their boss's interruption, Ronnie Anne gave him one final sharp glance and then moved to one of the windows. Lincoln followed, as Pingry and Lori followed suite.

Looking out the small window, he scanned the deepening dusk on automatic instinct, thinking about what she had said. He supposed he should be grateful that he wasn't the only one who suspected some kind of cover-up- but why hadn't she said anything before? And to warn him against the S.T.A.R.S...

 _She knows something._

She must, it was the only explanation that made sense. He decided after they picked up Bravo, he'd talk to her again, try to convince her that going to Hawkins would be their best bet. With both of them pushing, the captain would have to listen.

He stared out at the seemingly endless sea of trees as the helicopter skimmed lower, forcing his attention to the search. The Spencer estate had to be nearby, though he couldn't see it in the fading light. Thoughts of Lisa and Eli Lily and now Ronnie Anne's strange warning circled around his exhausted brain, trying to break his focus, but he refused to give in. He was still worried about the Bravos- though as the trees swept by, he was becoming more and more convinced they weren't in any real trouble. It was probably nothing worse than a crossed wire, Francisco had just shut it down to make repairs -

Then he saw it, less than a mile away, even as Izzy pointed and spoke, his concern turned to cold dread.

"Look, Lincoln-"

An oily plume of black smoke boiled up through the last remnants of daylight, staining the sky like a promise of death.

* * *

 _Oh, no-_

Lori clenched her jaw, staring at the stream of smoke that rose up from the trees, feeling sick.

"Captain, two o'clock sharp!" her brother called, and in that instant they were turning, heading for a dark smudge that could only mean a crash.

Lori turned away from the window, as she saw the others do the same. Lincoln, Ronnie Anne, and Carol all wore the same look, as she imagined she did: shock. S.T.A.R.S. sometimes got hurt in the line of duty, it was part of the job - but accidents like this...

Chandler's only visible sign of concern was from the set of his mouth, a thin, grim line against his tanned skin. "Listen up. We've got people down in a potentially hostile environment. I want you all armed and organized. Lori, you take point."

She nodded, pulling herself together: The boss was right; now was not the time to get emotional.

"Clyde's gonna set us down as close to the site as he can get, what looks to be about fifty meters from their last coordinates. He'll stay with the 'copter and keep it warm in case of trouble. Any questions?"

Nobody spoke, and Chandler nodded briskly. "Good. Lori, load us up. We can leave the rest of the gear on board and come back for it later."

The captain stepped to the front to talk to Clyde while Ronnie, Lincoln, and Carol turned their attention to Lori. As weapons specialist, she checked the firearms in and out to each S.T.A.R.S. member and kept said weapons in prime condition.

She turned to the cabinet next to the outer hatch and unhooked the latch, exposing six Beretta 9mm handguns on a metal rack, cleaned and sighted only yesterday. Each weapon held fifteen rounds, semi-jacketed hollow points. It was a good gun, though Lori preferred her Python, a lot bigger punch with .357 rounds...

She quickly distributed the weapons, passing out three loaded clips with each.

"I hope we don't need these," Carol said, slapping in one of her clips into her Beretta, and Lori nodded her head in agreement. Just because she paid her dues to the NRA didn't mean she was some trigger-happy dumbass, looking to kill; she just liked guns.

Chanlder joined them again after finishing his conversation with their pilot and the five of them stood by the hatch, waiting for Clyde to bring them in. As they neared the plume of smoke, the helicopter's whirling blades pushed it down and out, creating a black fog that blended into the heavy shadows of trees. Any chance of spotting the downed vehicle from the air was lost to the smoke and dust.

"Chicken-Heart McBride" swung them around and settled the bird into a scrappy patch of tall grass. Even as the rails wobbled, Lori had her hand on the latch, ready to move out.

A warm hand fell on her shoulder. She turned and saw her little brother looking at her intently.

"We're right behind you, sis." Lincoln said, and Lori nodded. She wasn't worried, not with the Alpha team backing him up. All she was concerned with was the Bravo team's situation. Rusty Spokes was a good friend of her brother. Rusty's wife Lucy was her own sister, for Christ's sake, and had babysat for her own girls more than she could could count, and their kids were the best of friends. The thought of him dead, to a stupid mechanical screw-up...

 _Hang on, kid, we're comin'._

One hand on the butt of her Colt, Lori pulled the handle and stepped out into the humid, whipping twilight of Red Run Forest, ready for anything that could come their way.


	6. Deadly Threat

Lori and her team spread out in a fan formation and started northward, Chandler and Lincoln on her left, Ronnie Anne and Carol on her right. Ronnie could smell burning fuel and wisps of smoke curling through the foliage as they followed their most up-to-date coordinates.

The group moved quickly through the wooded area, visibility dropping off sharply beneath the needled branches. The warm scents of pine and earth were overshadowed by the burning smell, the acrid odor growing stronger with each step. From the dim light filtering toward them, Ronnie Anne saw that there was another clearing ahead, high with brittle grasses.

"I see it, dead ahead!"

She felt her heart speed up at Lori's shout, and before she knew it, they were all running, hurrying to catch up to their point man.

She emerged from the corse of trees, Carol next to her. Lori was already at the downed 'copter, Lincoln and his commander right behind her. Smoke was still rising from the silent wreck, but it was thinning. If there had been a fire, it had died out.

She and Pingrey reached the others and stopped, staring, no one speaking as they surveyed the scene. The long, wide body of the 'copter was intact, not even a sing scratch visible. The port landing rail looked bent, but besides that and the dying haze of smoke, there seemed to be nothing wrong with it. The hatches stood open, the beam from Chandler's penlight showing them an undamaged cabin. From what they could see, most of the Bravo's gear was still on board.

It didn't make any sense. It hadn't been fifteen minutes since their last transmission; if anyone had been injured, they would have stayed. And if they had to leave, why would they leave their equipment behind?

Chandler handed the light to Carol and nodded toward the cockpit. "Check it out. The rest of you spread out and look for clues. Tracks, shell casings, signs of struggle, you find anything, let me know. And stay alert."

* * *

Ronnie Anne joined the search as Carol stepped out of the cockpit, looking as confused as she felt. She waited to hear her report as she handed the light back to her superior, shrugging nervously.

"I don't know what happened. The bent rail suggests a forced landing, but other than that and the electrical system, everything looks fine."

Chandler sighed, then raised his voice so the others could hear, loud and clear. "Circle out, people. Three meters apart, widen as you go."

Ronnie Anne positioned herself between Lincoln and Lori, the brother-sister duo already scanning the ground by their feet as they slowly moved east and northeast of the helicopter. Their commander stepped into the cabin, probing the darkness with his penlight while Carol headed west into the weakened woodlands.

After mere minutes of searching, she stopped, listening. The sighing, crackling steps of the others, the far away drone of their 'copter-

 _-and nothing else. Not even a chirp, a twitter. Nothing…_

They were in the woods, in the middle of summer; where the hell were the animals, the insects? The forest was unnaturally still, the only sounds human. For the first time since they'd set down, she was afraid.

She was about to call out to the others when Pingrey shouted from somewhere behind them, her voice high and crackling.

"Hey! Over here!"

Ronnie turned around and started jogging back, the others following suit. All except for Chandler, who was still in the helicopter and had drawn his weapon at his soldier's cry, pointing up as he broke into a run.

In the murky light, Ronnie could make out her friend's shadowy form, crouched down in the high grass near some trees. Instinctively, she pulled out her own sidearm and double-timed, suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of encroaching doom.

Carol stood up, holding something, and let out a strangled scream before dropping it, her eyes wide with terror.

 _A S.T.A.R.S. handgun, a Beretta- and a disembodied human hand curled around it, hacked off at the wrist…_

There was a deep, guttural snarl from behind the startled S.T.A.R.S. agent, from the darkness of the trees, an animal growling-

-Joined by another rasping, throaty shriek-

\- And suddenly dark, powerful shapes erupted from the woods, lunging at Carol and taking her down with ease.

"Carol!"

Ronnie Anne's scream ringing in his ears, Lincoln drew his weapon and stopped in his tracks, trying to get a good shot at the raging beasts that were mauling his sister's high school rival. Chandler's penlight illuminated the scene, revealing a nightmare.

Carol Pingrey's body was all but hidden by the three raging beasts that tore at her, ripping at her with gnashing, dripping jaws. They were about the size of a German Shepard, except they had no fur, no skin. Wet, red sinew and muscle flashed between Chandler's wavering light, the dog-creatures shrieking and snapping in a frenzy of bloodlust.

Carol cried out, a burbling, liquid sound as she flailed weakly at the savage attackers, blood pouring from her multiple wounds. It was the scream of a dying woman. There was no time to waste; Lincoln targeted and open fired.

Three rounds smacked wetly into one of the dogs, a forth shot going high. There was a single, high pitched yelp and the beast went down, it's side heaving. The other two continued their vicious assault, indifferent to the thunderous shots. Lincoln watched in horror as one of the slavering hellhounds lunged at and ripped out Carol's throat, exposing bloody gristle and the glistening sickness of bone.

The S.T.A.R.S. opened up, sending a rain of explosive fire at Pingrey's killers. Red splatters burst into the air, the dog-things still trying to get at the spastic corpse while bullets riddled their strange flesh. With a final series of harsh, barking mewls, they fell-and didn't rise again.

"Hold your fire!"

Lincoln took his finger of the trigger but continued to point the handgun at the fallen creatures, ready to blow apart the first one that so much as twitched. Two of them were still breathing, growling softly between panting gasps. The third sprawled lifelessly next to his teammate's mutilated remains.

 _-They should be dead, should've stayed down after the first shots! What are they?_

Chandler took a single step toward the slaughter in front of them-

-When all around them, deep, echoing howls filled the warm night air, shrill voices of predatorily fury coming at them from all directions.

"Back to the 'copter, now!" The captain shouted.

Lincoln ran as fast as he could, his sister and crush in front of him and Chandler bringing up the rear. The four of them sprinted through dark trees, unseen branches slapping at them as the howls grew louder, more insistent.

Chandler turned and fired blankly into the woods as they stumbled toward the waiting helicopter, its blades already spinning. Lincoln felt sweet relief sweep through him; Clyde must have heard the shots. They still had a chance…

He could hear the creatures behind them now, the sharp rustling of lean, muscular bodies tearing through the trees. He could also see Clyde's pale, wide-eyed face, through the glass front of the 'copter.

 _Another fifty feet, almost there-_

Suddenly, the helicopter jerked into the air, accelerating wildly. Lincoln caught a final glimpse of his best friend's face and could see the blind terror that resided there, the unthinking panic that had gripped him as he clawed at the controls.

"No! Don't go!" Lincoln screamed, but the wobbling rails were already out of reach, the 'copter pitching forward and away from them through the thundering darkness.

They were going to die.


End file.
